


Catharsis

by lumbeam



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Bickering, F/M, Hatesex, Lemon, Smut, just. straight up smut, no resolution because they're both stubborn as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7727626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Amanda get into a fight that escalates into some good old fashioned hatesex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

Amanda slammed the french doors behind her, nearly closing them on Michael in the process. They just got done with an exhaustive tennis match which ended in Michael claiming victory. It could have stretched on for a couple more hours, but Amanda stormed off with her tennis rackets before Michael could convince her otherwise.  
  
“Amanda, what’s your deal?” Michael asked, more confused than anything.  
  
She tears off her visor and throws her tennis racket on the floor and spins around to face him. “My _deal_ is that you shouldn’t have won! It’s bullshit!” She turns and goes to the kitchen to fix herself a protein shake.  
  
“Hey, hey, there’s no reason to be mad! I mean, _I'm_ the one who should be pissed off since I am the one that paid for all those ‘lessons’ with _Kyle_ . Then again, it’s not like you were handling _tennis_ balls on the court, now were you?”  
  
Amanda glares at him. “Oh _fuck_ you, Michael. You’re really going to bring him up? Are you _that_ petty?”  
  
Michael, scoffing, joins the kitchen and takes a glass out of the cupboard. “I'm not the one gettin’ mad about a tennis match.”  
  
“ _Oh yeah_ , like you’re the picture of calmness when you lose at something. Give me a break.” Amanda pours her protein powder into her water bottle.  
  
He pours a little bit of scotch into his glass. “I’ve been improving on that, Mand. You know that.”  
  
“And how long is that really going to stick? Remember the million times you tried to quit smoking? Or how about when you tried to not cheat on me for more than a month? How’d those times work out, Michael?”  
  
Now Michael is getting heated. “I wish you could just fuckin’ thank me for trying to improve myself.”

  
Amanda starts shaking up her drink. “Why would I thank you on quitting something you’re just going to pick back up a week later? Or _now_ ?”  
  
“So this is how we’re going to do this?” Michael asks, setting his drink down. He walks to the other side of the kitchen island. “Okay, my _darling_ , how about the last time _you_ drained my bank account? Or maybe the last time you fucked someone behind my back?”  
  
“Oh, _your_ bank account? I didn’t realize it wasn’t _shared_ !” She’s shaking up her drink even more, her fingers practically white from gripping it so hard. “I forgot you’re so protective of your _hard-earned_ money!”  
  
“Well I don’t see anyone _else_ adding to the income! Instead it’s ‘Michael, I need tennis lessons! Michael! I need yoga lessons! We have to remodel the kitchen!’” Michael mimics her voice in a higher register, to which Amanda rolls her eyes at. “I might as well just cut a hole in my wallet!”  
  
“Sorry for wanting to find something to do other than baking out in the sun and killing brain cells!” Amanda slams down her drink, the top popping off and shake going everywhere.  
  
“I thought you’re happy that I allow you to do whatever and _whomever_ you want!” Michael yells, taking off his sweatbands as if he were about to throw down.  
  
“No! I'm miserable!” Amanda finally says, stomping over to get a towel to clean up the mess.  
  
“How the _fuck_ are you miserable?! I give you _everything_ , and do I get even a fucking ‘ _thank you_ ?’” Michael goes over to her side of the island, blocking her from wiping up her spilled drink.  
  
She looks at him with hate-filled eyes. “Oh, you want a _thank you_ ?” She slaps Michael across the face with her perfectly manicured hand. “I gave up _everything_ to be here with you, isn’t that a ‘thank you’ enough?”  


“Try fucking doing that again, Mand _y_ .” Michael says in a low voice, Amanda’s handprint leaving a bright red mark on the side of his face.  
  
She tries to slap at him again, but Michael catches her wrist, holding it in place. They share a gaze for a split second, but it feels like eternity. Their expressions are a mixture of anger, hatred, and _hunger_ . His other hand finally grabs the back of her head and he pulls her in close for a kiss. Amanda doesn’t pull away; rather, she intensifies the kiss quickly by pressing her tongue against his.  
  
Michael backs her up against the fridge, putting her arms above her head and holding them there. She loops her leg around Michael’s lower back, pressing him up against her body.  
  
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, allowing his grip on her hands to slacken.  
  
“I hate you so much,” Amanda breathes.  
  
Michael kisses at her neck and unzips her tennis jacket. His hands greedily roam around her body, finally slipping down under her skirt and her lace underwear. Amanda lets out a small moan as Michael slowly starts to rub her. He tentatively sticks a finger inside her and he lets out a satisfied hum against her neck.  
  
“If you hate me so much, then why are you _so_ wet for me?” Michael asks mockingly, his smug expression making Amanda both annoyed and turned on.  
  
Amanda groans, not having a good enough excuse to hide her arousal.

"Can't think of a good lie?" Michael asks her, knowing her has her exactly where he wants her. He goes onto his knees, staring up at her with that same _damn_ expression. Before Amanda can go back to being annoyed, she can feel him push her underwear to the side.  
  
“We shouldn’t do this in the kitch-- _ah!_ ” Amanda gasps at Michael’s hot mouth on her pussy. Even though there is a laundry list of things she dislikes (or _hates_ ) about him, she can never bring herself to complain about him going down on her. Then again, it’s not like he does it as much as he should, being that he _always_ wants a blowjob when they _do_ have sex. Not like it’s very often these days. Maybe once a month? Less? Who knows.  
  
Michael’s tongue swirls around her clit, making Amanda breathe harder and harder. She rests one of her legs on his shoulder, trapping him. He inserts one finger, then two, as he starts to stimulate her g-spot and her clit in tandem.  
  
Amanda’s moaning more now, her hands resting on the back of Michael’s head. He picks up his pace, quickly bringing her over the edge. Her climax is anything but modest; she’s panting and clawing at his hair, holding on for dear life. When her breathing stabilizes, Michael stands back up, palming at his cock through his shorts.  
  
Amanda’s eyes flick downward. “Do you want me to--”  
  
He sucks her wetness off of his fingers as he shakes his head no. Amanda doesn’t bother asking again to make sure.  
  
“We shouldn’t do this _here_ ,” she whispers, as if they aren’t the only two home right now, “I don’t know when the kids will be home.”  
  
“Mandy, since when have you worried about that? ‘Sides, it’s four pm. I doubt the kids will be home before dinner time.” Michael kisses at her neck again, softly sucking at her skin.  
  
“If you say so. I just don’t want to traumatize them. It’s not like they need any _more_ therapy.”

He laughs against her skin, starting to unzip his tennis shorts.  
  
She lightly pushes him off of her and stares at him. “What makes you think that I'm going to _allow_ you to fuck me?” Amanda asks, biting her lip.  
  
“Cause you bit your lip just now. You’re _such_ a bad liar when I get you all hot for me.” Michael says, smugness finally gone from his face.

Amanda laughs lightly. “Fuck you, Michael.”  
  
“If you say so,” Michael says, taking a second to get aligned with her as he slowly pushes himself inside her. Amanda gasps, which soon melts into a loud moan. He grunts slightly, rocking himself into her. She grips the top of the fridge for leverage, staring down at Michael. Her mind keeps fighting with her that she should be angry, _furious_ that Michael is once again getting his way. And yet her carnal desires are overriding any sense of what she _should_ do.

She wraps her legs around him. “I hope you still have enough stamina to do standing, _Michael_.” 

  
Michael laughs burying his face in her chest. His hands find their new place around her ass, and his pace picks up. Magnets, clips, and papers tumble off the fridge as they press against it. Amanda’s hands find their way back to his head. She starts to tug it like a lifeline as Michael moves away from the fridge, standing freely and thrusting into Amanda.  
  
“So what do you think? You impressed your ‘piece of shit husband’ can still do this?” He asks, a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead.  
  
She wraps her legs around him tighter and scoffs. “Oh please. We did this for like an hour when we were dating. And _Fabian_ could do it for even longer--”  
  
Michael pulls her hair at the sound of his name.  
  
Amanda slaps him again on the other side of his face. “What the fuck, Michael?”  
  
“Please,” he sighs out, “don’t talk about him while I'm inside you.”  
  
“If you fuck me better than him, then I won’t.” She says slyly, eager to go back to the tete-a-tete play.  
  
“As you _wish_ .” Michael pulls himself out of her as he flips her around against the island and resumes his display of virility.  
  
Resting her forearms down on the island, Amanda pushes herself back against his cock, taking in all of him. Michael rests his arms on either side of her, slowing his pace. “Fuckin’ _A Mand_ y,” he moans out.  
  
She might as well go on a power trip. “How good am I?”  
  
“Fuckin’--the _best_ .” He rests his forehead in between her shoulder blades.  
  
“Mm, you mean that? Am I really good enough for you to give up all the other LS skanks you paid for?”  
  
“You know it, babe.” He kisses the spot where his forehead was resting. “Am I better than any of those LS fuckers I _technically_ paid for?”

“You still have to prove it.” She swirls her hips slightly around him. Michael is never one to back down from a challenge.  
  
“Right, of _course_.” A hand snakes around her and rests on her clit. He starts thrusting into her with a greater vigor than before, causing their skin to smack together in an almost grotesque fashion. Normally, Amanda would be disgusted by the noise, but instead she focuses on her orgasm just over the figurative horizon.

  
“How about _that_ , huh?” Michael asks, his hand rubbing at her clit a little faster now. “Or do you still need more?”  
  
“I think you know what I want.” Amanda says, trying her hardest to keep her voice steady.  
  
“Only the _best_ for you, Mand--” Michael says, holding her close with one hand and finishing her off with the other.  
  
Her orgasm hits her fast, similar to an adrenaline shot to the chest. Her moans fill up the house, and she doesn’t even focus on the fact that Michael is saying to her “mandy, I'm--I'm gonna--”  
  
Only when she starts to come down is when she notices Michael has filled her up. She turns around and stares at him as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “... _Michael_ .” she says in an accusatory tone.  
  
“But your-- _fuck, hold on--_ he breathes deeply a couple of times, as if he just got done sprinting. “--Your tubes are tied, though.”  
  
She puts a hand between her legs and catches some of the cum dripping out and sighs. “I guess I needed a shower anyway.”  
  
“You’re tellin’ me.” Michael sighs out, pulling his shorts back over his softening cock. "Are ya feeling better?"   
  
Amanda scrunches up her face. "Michael, it's kind of--"  
  
And that’s when the door opens. It’s Jimmy. “Hello? Mom? Dad? What’s for dinner?”  
  
Michael and Amanda share a panicked glance as they book it to the garage.  
  
Suspecting something is wrong, Jimmy slowly creeps into the kitchen. “Hello? _Helloooo_ ?” He calls out, being met only with silence. Then he sees (and smells) the damage. Scattered accessories, magnets, a spilled protein drink, drops of something that _better fucking not_ be semen, and the smell of sex paint an all too clear picture. “Oh my _fucking god_ , you guys are fucking  _gross_ ! At least when I do gross shit, I'm in my room! Or like! The bathroom!” Jimmy calls out before going up the stairs, dry heaving the entire way up.  
  
After he slams his door, the two of them hustle upstairs (but not before wiping up the drink and the rogue semen drops) for a shower. As they undress, Michael asks again. “Did you mean what you said? That you’re miserable and you hate me?”  
  
Amanda takes off her tanktop and thinks for a moment. “I'm going to take a rain check on that question.”  
  
Michael is too tired from the tennis/fighting/hatesex to be worried. He shrugs. “Good enough for me.”


End file.
